


Opposite Day

by RichiesToesHurt



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eddie Kaspbrak is Dead, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is Suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 23:43:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichiesToesHurt/pseuds/RichiesToesHurt
Summary: Opposite Day, what a concept. Richie Tozier was usually somewhat of a jokester but on this self-proclaimed holiday, he was celebrating the traditions to cope with the loss of Eddie. He hurt for the love of his life, buried not in a graveyard but in the worst place imaginable. His hurt for the man he never got to love properly would only grow stronger when Bev, Ben, Mike, or Bill would ask him questions along the lines of, ‘are you okay?’ Richie would usually answer these questions with honesty but fuck, today was Opposite Day! And Richie was planning to celebrate.





	Opposite Day

He woke up in the Derry town house, not in a bed but on the floor behind the bar, a place he frequently found refuge when the nights grew lonely and the room across the hall from his own grew taunting with memories, scents, and love. Instead of going into the room that which previously provided refuge to the now deceased Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie found himself constantly trudging past the door only to force himself down the stairs, eyes foggy with tears and stomach churning from the idea of drinking on an empty stomach, of which kept rejecting just about anything he tried to choke down.  
Richie felt his head pound, as he clambered to his feet. Eyes briefly connecting with those of Beverly Marsh, who found herself seated at the bottom of the stairs to wait for Richie to wake up.  
“Were you drinking again last night?”  
Richie thought to himself about how obvious the actual answer to the question was, but fuck, it was Opposite Day.  
“What gives you that idea? Of course not.”  
Beverly lit two cigarettes and offered Richie one, as he walked over to her, he grabbed the closest bottle to him that wasn’t empty and carried it upstairs, along with the cigarette Bev so graciously offered. As he approached the junction in the hall that Richie had struggled with for the past week or so, he stopped dead in his tracks. He took a long and deep drag on the cigarette then stubbed it out against the wall and threw it to the floor. He stood there considering the various options of mental turmoil he could put himself through, he could go into Eddie’s room, embracing what was left of the man who was ripped from his life far too soon, or go into his own room and be left alone with his thoughts of ‘what if?’  
Richie instead decided to sit on the ground leaning against the entrance to his own room staring blankly at the door in front of him. The pounding of his head was far too loud to shed awareness to Ben, trying as casually as possible to be quiet as he approached Richie on the ground.  
“Hey Richie, how are you feeling?” Ben shuddered at his own stupid question.  
“Peachy” was all Richie could say, he felt his eyes blur with tears, to distract himself he took another swig from the bottle, of which he now discovered was vodka.  
“What are you thinking about man?” Ben slumped down to sit next to him.  
Richie sat for a moment, considering the holiday and then how to go about describing the feeling entirely opposite to the current one lingering in his mind. “I’m thinking about how much I fucking hated Eddie” Richie’s lips quivered as the sentence spilled out of his mouth. (Happy fucking Opposite Day Ben Hanscom) he thought to himself.  
Ben swallowed hard to try and suppress the ball in his throat and gave Richie a minute to collect himself before continuing.  
“Rich, I know how you felt about him-” but Ben couldn’t finish the sentence because Richie was quickly and almost aggressively standing up and barging into Eddies room. Ben allowed his tears to flow now.  
Richie went into the room only because it was Opposite Day, he knew that if it was up to him and his clouded mind, he would slink into his own room and hide until the sun set. But alas, Opposite Day is what in the end convinced Richie to barge into Eddies room. The others insisted days ago that Richie should be the first one to enter the room, explaining to him through barrier of his own locked door that they unlocked Eddies it but chose not to enter, they all realized the toll Eddie’s passing was taking on Richie and they felt it was only right to allow him control over the matter. Richie could only step two feet into the room before having to press his hand firmly over his mouth in order to suppress sobs that he knew Ben could hear otherwise. He didn’t want anyone else in the room, at least not yet, and he knew that if Ben heard the heartbreak in his sobs he would come in and try to comfort him. Richie wanted to be alone with as much of Eddie as he could.  
Richie dropped the bottle to the floor which hit the carpeted ground with a hard thud, he then walked to the bed that still had one of the giant black suitcases opened on top of it. Richie ran his hand along the row of folded up clothing fastened to the well of the suitcase, grabbing one at random he yanked it from its neat position and sat on the bed. Richie almost fearfully held the shirt to his face.  
He didn’t inhale all at once, he didn’t alter his breathing at all actually, he simply wanted to be gradually engulfed in the scent of Eddie. Residual cologne weaved throughout the fabric, permanently staining the clothing with essence of Eddie. Richie allowed his tears to fall carelessly, sobs no longer racked his body because his mourning vanished temporarily as Richie allowed his imagination to pull him away from the scene.  
He didn’t imagine confessing his love or showing him his carvings on the kissing bridge or anything of the sort, he simply imagined hugging him. He imagined holding him, just being with him. He didn’t imagine them saying anything, he didn’t imagine a purpose behind the hug, he just imagined holding Eddie and Eddie holding him back. Richie smiled to himself, as he did so he was suddenly aware of the warm tears streaming down his cheeks. This sensation brought him rudely back to reality. His smile faded and his face went dark with realization and dread. His hand holding the soft, purple fabric dropped to his lap.  
Richie found himself searching through the suitcase again, longing to find something more, striving for the feeling he felt just moments ago. He tugged at what appeared to be one of four sweatshirts. The fabric was worn, hinting at the fact that Eddie had it for a while.   
Without thinking Richie pushed the large black suitcase towards the far side of the bed, to adjust everything to allow room for him to get into it. As he crawled into bed with the garment, he shifted to adjust the comforter to cover his head. Facing the center of the bed in the dark cocoon of blankets, he shed his glasses and held the hoodie to his face, this time engulfed with a stronger experience of colorful scents, he smelled sandalwood, vanilla, musk, then he smelled the hair pomade Eddie used since childhood this brought a fresh wave of tears, he smelled Eddie. He allowed himself to be wafted away into a sense of euphoria with the sensation that Eddie was closer to him now.   
Richie heard the door click open and was annoyed to be pulled from his moment alone with what was left of Eddie. He heard sniffling and knew it was Bev, at this point Richie could recognize the sound of each of his friend’s sniffling which annoyed him. It annoyed him that his friends would constantly cry now a days, it was to the point where it was no longer for Eddie and Stan, it was for him. They were crying for him, which made him feel worse.   
He felt the bed sink and knew she sat down, Richie made the choice to stay silent, a new concept for Richie but it was one he frequented as of late. He heard her fidgeting with the prescription bottles Richie hadn’t noticed when walking in, he realized she was putting them in something, hiding them from him. Richie didn’t know if she did this to shelter every one of the remembrance of Eddie’s fucked childhood full of pills he grew obliviously addicted to which ultimately followed him to death, or to hide them from Richie… in fear that he might take them. Either way, he felt thankful to her.  
A few minutes passed, Richie still silently tearful, buried under the covers and Bev sitting behind him. Finally, Bev rested a hand on what she knew was Richie’s shoulder. She felt him jump a little at the touch, but gently squeezed him in response, trying to relay her efforts of comfort through the thick layers of fabric. She was fiercely worried about him, she knew how much love he felt for Eddie, they all loved the hypochondriac, but it was always Richie whose love was different. His love for Eddie was not one of friendship it was one of passion, a love deeper than passion, a love that never got to be explored or even expressed. She couldn’t imagine the pain he felt, knowing now of him never taking a serious lover because the only one he wanted was unknowingly to each of them, married in New York. Bev knew Eddie loved him too, which made things that much worse. For someone to go unhappy for so long, without even realizing the existence of their perfect match, settling for someone replicating the person they possibly despised the most, was quite possibly the most unsettling thing about the situation.   
Bev shifted her hand to grab the comforter, tugging at it slightly, waiting for a response of protest from Richie, of which never came. She slid the comforter down completely to reveal Richie, staring blankly at his hands, one of which holding his glasses, folded, and the other holding Eddie’s sweatshirt. Bev watched him as his eyes trailed a constant stream of tears into the sheet below, she watched as he shifted his hands closer to his face, burying it in the hoodie. She wept as she leaned over to comfort him, she rested her hand on his shoulder again and allowed the other to comb the dark curly hair away from his temple.   
Richie closed his eyes, desperately trying to drift into an imaginative world where Eddie was still alive and comforting him instead. He tried to imagine himself broken up about the death of a dog they might have had together for years, and Eddie comforting him, whispering things like ‘he loved you Rich, he really did’ and ‘he died for you, you know that right?’ Richie didn’t quite understand the last one, but it worked none the less.   
Bev allowed her thoughts to pour out of her mouth in the form of a whisper, then pressed her lips to Richie’s temple.   
Richie felt lips at his temple that he knew to be Bev’s, but he held the feeling long enough to imagine them to be Eddies, because fuck it was Opposite Day and Richie was going to fucking celebrate.


End file.
